Malakai's gaze became clouded.
From Hamada's initial explanation, a part of him had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that there was some chance of survival for this ordeal.
It felt like a complete dead end.
From everything Hamada had revealed, there was one detail that stood out above all.
'They were at the same age range as me…'
The descendants who had vanished in the pit had just started their evolution, barely past the initial stages of power. It meant they were around Malakai's age.
Yet, unlike the adults who entered the pit and returned unharmed, those youths had disappeared without a trace.
Malakai's thoughts twisted darkly.
'Would that happen to me too?'
Without hesitation, he asked, "Where did they go?" If he knew this, then maybe he would be able to prepare better.
Hamada glanced at him, then slowly shook his head.
"They weren't able to figure that out."
The mood grew heavier.
Even Hamada, sensing the weight of the moment, chose to remain quiet. Nyx as well said nothing, the silence between them growing deeper as they continued their ride.
Malakai's thoughts kept on churning.
His fleeting hope had just been crushed.
'Centuries have passed already…'
More than two hundred years, and not one of those descendants had returned.
They were most likely dead.
'Maybe… they were taken to a place they couldn't survive in.'
The adults had been strong enough to withstand the realm they were taken to. The same couldn't be said for newly evolved youths.
Malakai slowly cleared his mind.
Nothing had changed. The situation was still as deadly as it was the moment he received the order from the Blood Sovereign.
There was no use lingering on what-ifs.
All that mattered now was survival.
Malakai's focus sharpened. He sent a slight kick into the side of his Gravethorn, urging it forward at a faster pace.
Hamada blinked, surprised, before catching on. Nyx followed behind silently, picking up her own pace.
With a quiet sigh, Hamada pushed forward to match them.
And with their new speed, the trio finally reached their destination.
The Gravethorns came to a stop before a massive, gaping pit of abyssal darkness.
No fences. No barriers.
Every attempt to contain or fortify this place had ended in failure. The structures had crumbled due to the emerging darkness or were swallowed whole by the pit's unseen force.
Malakai's eyes fixed on it. Observing.
It emanated an aura that felt wrong, as though it didn't belong in this world.
Cold. Unnatural. Evil.
A dark mist rose and coiled above the pit like smoke from a cursed flame, giving it an eerie, haunting presence.
Hamada and Nyx turned toward Malakai.
He didn't turn to meet their gaze. But he knew they were looking at him.
Instead, he inhaled slowly, then dismounted from his Gravethorn and started walking toward the pit.
Each step was heavy, and the closer he got, the more it sank into his skin, the cold, the wrongness, the creeping sense of death.
His body shivered involuntarily.
It felt like death itself was breathing from the abyss.
As he walked, Malakai suddenly heard a heavy thud behind him.
He turned slightly to see Hamada dismounting. The older warrior approached with a solemn expression.
"Ninth Vein…" he said. His voice was low, sad.
"I don't know what's going on in your head, nor can I predict what your future holds… but I want you to know—"
He stopped for a moment, then bowed deeply.
"—You would make a fine Sanguine. One of our finest."
Malakai held his gaze for a moment, then gave a small nod.
Just as he turned to face the pit again;
Her voice had trembled slightly, something Malakai had never thought he would hear. But he heard her clearly.
He turned to face her.
She stood by her Gravethorn, her fists clenched at her side, eyes cast downward as though going through an internal dilemma.
Then, slowly, she raised her head, meeting his. Her expression had turned resolute.
Without another word, she tossed something through the air.
Malakai caught it reflexively.
He looked at her again, puzzled.
Then, her voice came once more, stronger than before.
Malakai's eyes widened slightly. He stared at her for a few long seconds. And for the first time in a very long while…
Something warm. Something faint.
Something he couldn't describe. A feeling he had nearly forgotten.
As though someone… was rooting for him.
As though… he wasn't alone.
The coin pressed against his palm, and his fingers curled so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
His crimson eyes turned sharp. Focused. Clear.
Then he nodded once at Nyx before turning back to the pit.
His steps brought him to the very edge. The cold became intense, seeping into his very bones.
He ignored it and stared into the darkness.
His mind flashed with memories.
The conversation with the Blood Sovereign.
The day he chose vengeance as his goal.
The years of pain, of training, of swallowing his pride and enduring humiliation.
All of it came crashing into him.
But he didn't flinch.
He didn't feel frustration.
His eyes were steady. There was no doubt, only readiness.
He didn't know what awaited him in the pit.
He didn't know how he would survive.
Even if he had to crawl his way back inch by inch.
Even if his body broke a hundred times.
Even if he had to tear through whatever realm it was by sheer will alone…
He would have his revenge.
"No matter what," Malakai whispered.
Letting those words become his vow, his last words to this world before he entered the pit.
Then, he stepped forward and jumped.
A rush of cold wind surged around him, whipping his clothes and hair.
And the darkness swallowed him whole.